


In Any Universe

by bravetosh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (kind of. he's trying), Dean Winchester Talks About Feelings, Episode: s13e22 Exodus, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s13e22 Exodus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24155947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravetosh/pseuds/bravetosh
Summary: “I uh. I met someone interesting.”“Oh?” Dean says, eyebrows raised and face open, and something in Castiel gives a little lurch.Dean looks so unburdened when he wears that face. Castiel wants Dean to look like that all the time.“I met me."
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 200





	In Any Universe

For all that Castiel loves humanity, he’s still stiff and awkward around actual humans. He’s not sure the bunker has ever been this full; it certainly hasn’t in the time Sam and Dean have lived there, since they carved themselves a real home.

But now it’s almost overflowing, and Castiel is off-guard. He doesn’t know these people, and he’s sure some of them must have encountered the… other version of him, judging from the way they flinch.

He’s amazed this new Charlie can even look at him.

He perches alone on the stairs, a beer in one hand, and watches Dean, almost scared to take his eyes off him.

He’d told that other version of him that they were the same, and in some ways, that was true; they’d had identical existences for billions of years, as soldiers, as agents of Heaven’s plan. It’s only a handful of decades that separate them.

Maybe even less; that other him had been blind in one eye, and that had unnerved Castiel in a way he’d never experienced before. He’d never, ever seen an angel with a scar on their vessel, and he wonders how many times Naomi drilled into that other angel’s head. He pictures the way not-him’s mouth had twitched and trembled, and he trembles, too.

Maybe Apocalypse world did have a righteous man, and maybe that other him had rebelled, or had tried. He wonders at what exact point it had become too much; when the desire to do what was right had finally broken, when Naomi’s trespassing became too much to bear.

But then Dean laughs at something Charlie says, and it stops mattering, because Castiel does know.

_Dean Winchester is saved._

The fight through Hell had been so gruelling, and Castiel almost thought they were going to lose, even as the light of Dean’s soul had come into view, shining brighter even than hell fire. And Castiel had surged forward, sliced through three demons in one hit in his sudden desperation, and reached out to grab.

He remembers the way Dean’s soul had recoiled, the shock of an angel’s touch burning away the muck and leaving a scar on the very essence of him, an explosion of light as Dean’s soul had realised that Castiel was safety, was escape, and had clung on as Castiel flew up, up, up, soaring victorious to bring the Righteous Man home.

_When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!_

And it was true; he was lost to Heaven’s control, permanently. No matter how hard they tried to claw him back, he would choose Dean. He had fallen for a human in every way it was possible to fall, and he would do it over and over and over again.

Dean smiles again, and Castiel gets to his feet, drifts over to Dean like a satellite in orbit, a moth caught in the light of his happiness.

Dean grins at him when Castiel brushes against his shoulder, waiting for Charlie to finish speaking.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says, and it’s almost true. He respects Charlie deeply, but everything that isn’t Dean has almost taken on a haze of insignificance.

“No big,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

Dean raises his eyebrows a little then, face shifting into that open, vulnerable expression that Castiel so treasures.

“Can we talk?” Castiel asks, voice soft even in the hubbub of the room.

“Of course,” Dean says, gesturing between himself and Charlie.

“No,” Castiel says, “can we talk alone?”

“Oh. Sure.” Dean nods to Charlie, and she nods back, giving him a little cheers with her drink. “Come on,” he says, turning to head down the corridor.

Castiel follows him to his room, eyes trained on Dean’s shoulders as they walk. He knows he’s standing a little too close, but he doesn’t care, he’s never cared. Something in him will always want to be by Dean’s side, no matter what tries to get in his way.

Dean closes his bedroom door once they’re inside, and Castiel makes no move to step away from Dean, just follows him when Dean sits down on his bed. They’re so close that their thighs brush every time Dean inhales.

“Cas?” He says, and Castiel realises that he’s worried.

“I uh. I met someone interesting.”

“Oh?” Dean says, eyebrows raised and face open, and something in Castiel gives a little lurch.

Dean looks so unburdened when he wears that face. Castiel wants Dean to look like that all the time.

“I met me,” Castiel says, and Dean’s eyes widen even further. The green of them is tinged a dark gold by the lamplight.

“When we went to save Charlie… I was there.”

Dean frowns, apparently more confused than anything else.

“As another rebel?” He asks, and Castiel has to pause, floored by the faith Dean still has in him, even after all his failures.

“No,” Castiel says, and Dean frowns deeper. “As an… interrogator.”

Dean knows what it really means.

“You – he – was working for Michael?”

“Yes.”

“But how?”

Castiel stops, just looks at Dean’s face, the scattering of freckles on his nose.

“There was another me, but there was no you,” Castiel says, and watches Dean’s mouth drop open.

“What do you-”

“That world had no you, no Sam. That other me never rescued you from Hell.”

Dean rolls his eyes then, and Castiel’s heart gives a little lurch.

“Cas, come on, I’m not that important.”

Castiel grabs at his shoulder then, pushes at Dean so they’re face to face.

“Dean, listen to me,” he says. How does Dean still not understand?

“That other me probably had doubts, just like I did. He was blind in one eye, because Naomi had been in his head so many times. And Naomi would have done that to me, if she could.”

Dean looks almost angry, now, like he always does when he thinks about losing people.

“But I broke out of her control, because of you.”

“You said you didn’t know what did it.” Dean says, almost irritated.

“I lied,” Cas says, and he smiles, just with his eyes. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Cas, that was years ago, why-”

“Not just for that. For everything. For saving me.”

Dean looks up then, that wide open look on his face, and Castiel leans forward, almost without thinking.

“I know you don’t feel the same way, but to me, you are the most important thing in the universe. In any universe.”

They’re so close, Dean’s eyes glowing so warm in the lamplight.

“Fuck it,” Dean whispers, and Castiel doesn’t have time to figure out what that means before there are lips on his. They’re soft, hesitant, like Dean’s not sure if Castiel wants this.

(He would laugh, if his mouth wasn’t busy)

Castiel reaches up, cradles Dean’s face in his hands, brushes his thumbs along the curve of Dean’s cheeks, and Dean kisses him gentle, twists his hands in the lapels of Castiel’s coat.

They’re still side by side on the bed, bodies twisting into each other at an awkward angle, even as they both curve towards each other like brackets, and Castiel sighs.

Dean pulls back, so their breaths are touching instead of their lips.

“Wow,” he says, and Castiel agrees, leans forward again to recapture his mouth.

“Hold on,” Dean says, and lets go of Castiel’s coat, ever so gently shrugging his hands away. He leans forward, and Castiel frowns, tilting his head while Dean unlaces and kicks off his boots, and then reaches over to tug off Castiel’s shoes.

Castiel lets him, lets Dean slip his hands under his suit jacket and push, until Castiel is in nothing but his shirt and tie, and Dean smiles, drapes his coats over the end of the bed.

Dean arranges his pillow so he is propped up against it, half-sitting half-lying in front of him.

“Alright,” Dean says, and spreads his arms, “come here.”

And Castiel goes, braces himself over Dean’s body and dips his head down, because it’s been a couple of minutes since they were kissing, and that’s too long.

Dean winds his arms around Castiel’s waist, spreads his hands against Castiel’s back and pulls him down, until Castiel is sitting in Dean’s lap, his hands draped across Dean’s shoulders and his legs braced either side of Dean’s hips.

They kiss slow, and Castiel’s grace is humming and sparking. It’s different to when he held Dean’s bare soul, but it’s no less intense, his grace and his vessel both demanding to be closer closer closer. He kisses Dean deep, tracks every hitch and pause in his breathing, every shift of his fingertips against his back.

He wants to touch Dean everywhere, wants to run his hands and his lips over every inch of him, wants hours or days or forever with Dean like this, warm and pliant and inviting. He slips his fingers beneath the collar of Dean’s shirt, presses against the muscles of Dean’s shoulders and feels the way they shift under his skin.

They don’t have that long, Castiel knows; the bunker is still teeming with people, and someone will come looking for them soon, wonder where they’ve vanished to in the middle of what almost counts as a party. So Castiel contents himself with kisses, with the way Dean’s lips fit against his own, the way Dean’s hands are hitching up his shirt to slide against the skin of his back.

“God, Cas,” Dean says, finally pulling away.

“I hope he’s not here,” Castiel says, still tracing his fingers along the curve of Dean’s neck.

“Alright, smart-ass,” Dean says, but his lips are curved into a smile, and Castiel can’t help himself, so he leans forward again and kisses it.

When Castiel pulls back, Dean bites his bottom lip, and Castiel’s immediate instinct is to bite it for him.

“I,” Dean says, and Castiel pauses; Dean’s always needed time to think about his words, when emotions are concerned. Castiel will give him all the time in the world.

“I can’t say you’re the most important thing. But you’re tied for first place.”

And Castiel kisses him hard, kisses him long and deep and desperate, because he knows exactly what that means, knows how deeply and fiercely Dean loves, and he basks in it, collects up Dean’s breaths and tucks them away inside himself to be treasured.

“Been a while since I’ve kissed someone this long without clothes coming off,” Dean says, smiling again.

“Are you propositioning me?” Castiel smiles back.

“I was gonna say it was kinda nice, but I can work with that.”

“When all this is over,” Castiel breathes into Dean’s mouth, “I’m not letting you out of this bed.”

And Dean _blushes,_ his whole face turning pink and lovely, his eyelids fluttering down as he looks away.

“Cas, we’re gonna have to go back out there in a minute, you can’t just _say_ things like that.”

“Why not?” Castiel doubts Dean will fall for it, but it’s worth a shot.

“You know why,” Dean says, and trails his hands down to Castiel’s thighs, tugging him forward and looking at him smugly when Castiel hisses against the friction.

“Fine,” Castiel says, and leans down to kiss one more time. He drags it out as long as he can, and Dean is willing, both of them losing themselves for a good few minutes before Castiel finally pulls himself away and gets to his feet.

Dean stays sprawled on the bed, watching as Cas moves to put his suit and coat back on.

“Don’t,” he says, biting his lip. Castiel tilts his head.

“You look good like that.”

Castiel grabs Dean’s hand and pulls him upright, tugging at him so that Dean collapses against his chest, kissing him for good measure.

“Cas,” Dean almost groans, winding his arms around Castiel’s waist and holding him tight.

“Can you blame me?” Castiel asks, grazing his fingertips over the back of Dean’s head.

“No,” Dean breathes out between kisses. “We’ve got some lost time to make up for.”

“How long?” Castiel asks.

“I don’t know. Years. Since Purgatory, at least.”

Castiel remembers Dean’s prayers, remembers the ache of them, and Dean’s lips are the only thing that take the edge off.

“What about you?” Dean mumbles against his mouth.

“Always. Since Hell.”

Dean pulls back properly then, stares at him with wide eyes.

“Seriously?” He asks, awed.

“It took me a while to figure out,” Castiel says, brushing his thumb over Dean’s cheek, the smile lines near his eyes. “But I remember watching Anna kiss you. It felt… wrong.”

And Dean just keeps staring at him, his jaw gone slack.

“You…” He says, voice barely above a whisper. “Holy shit.”

Castiel trails a hand down, rests it against Dean’s shoulder in the spot where there was once a perfect replica of his handprint. The spark of silver running through his soul remains, a different kind of scar. One that can’t be healed along with Dean’s body.

“I’ve seen a lot of souls, Dean,” Castiel says, “but never one as beautiful as yours.”

“Cheesy bastard,” Dean whispers, laughing against Castiel’s lips. Castiel smiles along with him, but it’s true; Dean is art, Dean is poetry, Dean is every good thing about humanity poured into a golden statue and come to life. Castiel knows every language known to man and then some, and even still, there aren’t the words to describe Dean Winchester.

He tries anyway, traces the shape of those words in English and Enochian and Hebrew against the curve of Dean’s lips, draws fragments of sentences with his fingertips along Dean’s back.

And then there’s a knock at the door. Dean pulls away, eyes dazed.

“Dean, honey, are you in here?”

Dean’s eyes snap into focus, his hands tightening in the back of Castiel’s shirt.

“Yeah, just a sec,” Dean calls. He sounds calm, but Castiel can see the panic.

“It’s alright, Dean. You don’t have to tell her if you don’t want to,” Castiel whispers.

“No, I… I want her to know.”

And Castiel smiles, body flushing warm as Dean smiles back, wide and shining.

“Okay,” Castiel says, and leans forward to peck him on the lips one last time, before he finally pulls away. He reaches down to tuck in his shirt, and Dean straightens his tie as much as he can.

“Ready?” Dean says, eyebrows raised.

“Of course,” Castiel nods. Nudges at Dean’s shoulder with his own.

Dean opens the door, and Mary perks up where she’s waiting in the corridor.

“You okay? Charlie said you-”

And then she notices Castiel, notices his lack of coat and messy hair and the flush on Dean’s face.

She smiles.

“I’m good, Mom,” Dean says, looking her in the eye. He reaches out, tangles his fingers against Castiel’s. “I’m really good.”

Castiel looks down, fascinated by the floor, the doorframe, anything that isn’t Mary’s gaze.

“Good,” Mary says, like it’s simple. Castiel looks up, and she’s still smiling, looking at their joined hands.

Dean grips a little tighter, traces his thumb across the back of Castiel’s hand.

Mary is right; loving Dean is all encompassing and overwhelming, but it’s simple, too.

“Shall we?” Castiel says, gesturing out into the corridor.

“Yeah,” Dean nods.

Mary turns to leave, and Dean follows. He doesn’t let go of Castiel’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!
> 
> [tumblr](krissychambers.tumblr.com)


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